Another Reality
by OrganizedMess
Summary: When Life gets to hectic for Sydney Bristow, she wishes she could escape. With help from Sark, Sydney gets what she wishes for and so much more. [S/Sa]
1. Default Chapter

Title: Another Reality  
  
Author: Typically Chugging Tea  
  
Rating: PG-13 (Violence and Langauge)  
  
Ship: S/Sa  
  
Summer: When Life gets to hectic for Sydney Bristow, she wishes she can escape. With help from Sark, Sydney gets what she wishes for and so much more.  
  
Authors Note: It may seem like S/V or even S/D but trust me it will eventually be S/Sa. This is just a prologue, I want to see how many people are interested in this story. Thank you.  
  
01// Prologue  
  
Silence.  
  
Sydney craved it sometimes when her schedule would get hectic. More and more everyday she found it harder to escape. The constant meetings and debriefing would get to her quickly. What could she say? Nothing. Nobody would listen to her if she did say anything, only if it was important. Of course there was always Vaughn. Her support, her reason to go on missions, he was the voice in her head telling her to do the right thing but who knows whats right these days? Vaughn does, of course.  
  
Don't get her wrong. She loved Vaughn but whenever the moment comes to say the actual words to him. They would dissolve on her tongue and slowly slide down to the pit of her stomach. Since Danny's death, she's had difficulty saying these words to anyone besides Vaughn; it also included Francie and Will. She felt that it would be some type of betrayal in her part against Danny. She could never do that. Yes, she was sleeping with another man. It was more of a comfort to Sydney: Being able to wake up in a pair of strong arms embracing her and pretending, even just for a moment, that those arms belonged to Danny.  
  
Today seemed more difficult then usual. Her head pounded as people talk in her ear, giving her instructions, asking about her most recent trip to Rome, or Kendall barking orders at her. Vaughn gave her a comforting looks or a gentle squeeze of the hands. It didn't seem enough today. As soon as the clock struck 5, she was out of there. She didn't say goodbye to Will, Vaughn, or Marshall. She needed to escape.  
  
She drove somewhere she had never been before and parked. She walked the cold, dark streets of downtown LA for a while, watching ordinary civilians carry on with their lives. They were oblivious to the danger they were in, the same danger Sydney was saving them from. She didn't know where she was going but she didn't care. She took random turns, some leading to other streets others leading to ally ways. The cold December wind whipped against her face as she quickly walked. From another point of view she looked like she was in a hurry somewhere when in fact she was in a hurry to nowhere.  
  
She found herself in an art gallery, one she had never been in before. Unknown to many people, Sydney enjoyed art quite thoroughly. Whether it is one of Gentileschi's pieces or something from Joan Miró 's gallery, she didn't care. They were just names to her. Art spoke for itself, whether it's an outcry of love or a scream of pain. It grabbed her soul until its message was through and then she stepped over to the next one in line where it would repeat the process. The art gallery was very empty; she did pass a few beatniks on their way out, discussing a Frederick Leighton piece. Sydney finally had complete silence that swooned her yet lulled her at the same time. She sat on a white bench in the center of one room and in, in a way, let the pictures speak to her. She allowed them to tell her stories about far off lands. A soft clicking of shoes soon interrupted them. Soon Vaughn sat next to her, not looking at her, but looking around.  
  
"Hey." He said, his voice was leveled yet soft.  
  
"Hi," Sydney replied, her voice sounding small, "How did you find me?"  
  
"I have my ways," he told her. She didn't have to look at him to tell he was grinning, "Actually I looked, I went to your house of course but I didn't see your care parked. Then I went to Francie's restaurant but she told me she hasn't seen you since this morning. I remembered you like train stations but of course you weren't there. Then I remember your new favorite place to hid was art galleries," she wanted to retort, saying she's always loved art galleries but kept her mouth firmly shut and continued to stare ahead, "I saw your car parked down the street and found this place. As I was walking here I remembered something. I don't know why you come to art galleries. Why do you like places like this?"  
  
She broke her eye contact with the picture in front of her and looked at him. His vivid green eyes were filled with concern, his 5 o'clock shadow seemed scruffier in the shinning studio lights and his mouth seemed like he was holding back something. He looked at her and she got the full effect of his facial expression. He was genuinely worried about her. His eyes seemed to seer holes in her but she continued to keep her eye contact. For a few more moments and looked away, shrugging her shoulders.  
  
"I guess, sometimes I need to escape into somebody else's reality." She told him, her voice dignified and strong. He responded by wrapping her arms around her and eased her off the bench. She welcomed the touch.  
  
"Come on, let's go home." He said, giving her a soft squeeze as they walked towards the front. Sydney snuggled closer to him as they walked back out to the brisk cold. What she craved now was love and warmth. 


	2. Out

02//Out  
  
- - -  
  
I'm lifting you up  
  
I'm letting you down  
  
I'm dancing till dawn  
  
I'm following around  
  
I'm not giving up  
  
I'm making your love  
  
This city's made us crazy and we must get out  
  
"Must Get Out" - Maroon 5  
  
- - -  
  
The sudden beeping of the alarm clock woke Sydney from a sleepy stupor. She reached over and slammed the snooze button. It was 6 am on a Tuesday morning; the week was slowly creeping by in front of her. She felt a pair of strong arms stir and wrap themselves around her. The actions of last night dripped back into her memory. They had made love again but it was nothing special, nothing like the first time. This time it seemed so mechanical in a sense. Like it was a chore that must be done instead of an experience that should be remembered. Indeed Sydney and Vaughn's relationship had reached it's slump. Now, it was looking for something to revive itself.  
  
Sydney untangled herself from Vaughn's embrace and walked to the bathroom to take her morning shower. In this process: Vaughn snorted, turned over, and slept on.  
  
As Sydney let the warm water soak her, she thought about how boring her love life has become. She had always desired one that consists of random getaways, whether it is to the local coffee shop or to Rome, Italy for a short but sweet vacation. Vaughn had his moments, but nothing that could satisfy Sydney. You could call her stubborn but it wouldn't matter to her. It was what she wanted most out of her relationships.  
  
15 minutes later, Sydney stepped out of the shower and wrapped a large towel around her small frame. She walked out of the bathroom to see Vaughn sprawled out on the bed, her comforter covering the necessary parts. She let out a small smirk before shaking him.  
  
"Come on Vaughn, its time to get up." She cooed gently into his ear. He shifted slightly but made no other attempted to wake up. Sydney wasn't close to giving up. "Come on Vaughn, You need to take a shower." She coaxed but he still remained dead to the world. Sydney sighed and stood up straight. She could steal secret plans from any alien government, kick the ass of practically any threatening agent, but she couldn't get her boyfriend out of bed. She seized the comforter and yanked it off of him. Leaving him stark naked and sprawled out on her bed. "Get up!" Sydney told him in a blatant voice. She walked out of the room, knowing her last action was sure to complete the task. She walked into her kitchen and grabbed a muffin. After a few moments of silence, eating her muffin, she heard the sound of the shower beginning to run. She gave a satisfied grin and continued eating her muffin.  
  
- - -  
  
It was now 9 o 'clock in the morning and Sydney was in her first meeting. All the usual suspects were in the room; Vaughn, Marshall, Kendall, Will, and her father. She sat in her premium leather chair at a slight incline, becoming very bored with it all. She felt like a jaded girl with nothing to neither excite nor please her. She listened to Kendall's voice drone on and on about the process with capturing Sloane and her mother. Then something snapped her back into reality; a picture of Sark flashed on the computer screen in front of her. Suddenly she was very interested in what Kendall had to say.  
  
"There will be a party at the Drake mansion in London, England. Our good friend," he gestures to the large screen at the front of the room," Mr. Sark, will be in attendance as well. We have received Intel that hiding on the second floor library are passwords to get into a Rimbaldi vault. The party is this Thursday. Miss Bristow will be leaving tomorrow," Kendall informed her, but Sydney stood up in protest  
  
"Sir, I just got back from Rome. Can't you se-" Sydney tried to say but he words were cut short.  
  
"Miss Bristow, you are most knowledgeable of Mr. Sark then anyone else here. You've dealt with him more and know his fighting technique well." He told her in his usual strict voice. He picked up a few folders that were in front of him. "End of discussion." He said and briskly walked out of the conference room. Sydney froze in that position: still and her mouth slightly agape. How dare they, the CIA was working her like a dog and she gained no respect. She felt a hand rub her lower arm. Sydney didn't have to look; she knew it was Vaughn. As everyone left the room Sydney sat down in her chair again and began to rub her temples in a circular motion.  
  
"Syd," Vaughn coaxed in a low voice, "I'm sorry about this. I know how stressed you've been lately and,"  
  
"You have no idea how stressed out I've been," She muttered in return, continuing to rub her temples.  
  
"You're right. I don't ." he said in a defeated voice. Silence fell between them as Vaughn thought of another plan of attack. "Why don't we head over to Francie's at break? We can take an early lunch, we can just sit and enjoy ourselves."  
  
Not until this point Sydney realized how tired she was. Another plane trip might kill her or might as well kill her. She agreed to the lunch date with Vaughn. He gave her a smile, it was a weak one but it was something Sydney appreciated. She tried to look at the bright side of things. For a few hours while at the party, she'll be someone else. Maybe a rich businesswoman looking to finalize an investment with the host of the party or maybe a snobbish wife accompanying her husband on another boring business trip.  
  
Oh, the possibilities.  
  
- - -  
  
Sooner then Sydney would have liked, it was Thursday and she was in her stretch limo, on her way to the party. It was deep in the hills, she read the Drakes owned a very successful winery. She saw miles upon miles of vineyard fields. She turned her attention to the objective of her trip. She had picked the alias of Lisa Vintichoni, a businesswoman and wife of an Italian associate of the Drakes. Her hair was now a deep burgundy that lay on her shoulders. She wore a sleek, black dress; the slit was high enough to catch the attention of any men, yet long enough to hid a 9 mm pistol that was securely strapped around her upper thigh. As the mansion came into view, Sydney began to think of her and Vaughn's latest goodbye.  
  
It was so brief; a quick kiss on the cheek, a "see you soon." and she was shuffled onto the plane. See you soon? As much as he knows, she could easily be killed and "See you soon" will become "good bye forever." Indeed, things with Vaughn were becoming more automatic. Is that the right word to use? Automatic? He does everything a good boyfriend should but maybe he followed the book a little too closely? Sometimes you need to disregard the book, color outside of the lines. Though, Sydney and Vaughn's relationship was against Protocol. It seemed like they were still following protocol.  
  
The limo stopped in front of the large mansion. Sydney was impressed; the lights inside and outside gave the mansion a very classical yet eerie look. Almost like the castle was plucked from the renaissance age. Maybe her prince charming was waiting for her inside, she smirked to herself. The driver opened her door and bid her a good evening. Couples ranging in all ages made their way up the large staircase. Sydney felt slightly alone, now wishing Vaughn was with her but she pushed those feelings aside. 'Time to make the donuts' she thought to herself.  
  
"Name?" the doorman stood at the front, looking large and threatening. His voice was deep with a pinch of a welsh accent.  
  
"Vintichoni." Sydney replied, disguising her voice with a thick Italian accent. The man grunted and allowed her to pass. As she entered, she looked over the sea of people in the large entrance area. They stood in their circles chatting, a few bursts of laughter popped like popcorn every now and then. Women had drenched themselves in diamonds and other lavish jewelry. She watched as older men's eyes lingered on the petite women cutting through the crowd and served wine. Sydney helped herself to a glass and continued to watch. She was looking for a large Shahn portrait. Next to it will be the hallway heading to a secret staircase, that leading to the library. She saw a Hofmann piece, then a Giogrione portrait; many paintings were adorned on the walls. Sydney had to admit, the host had fine taste in art. She took another sip of her wine as she spotted him.  
  
Sark.  
  
He stood near one of the paintings, chatting with one of the young waitresses. "Mixing business with pleasure?" Sydney muttered to herself with a smug smile. Almost as if he had heard her, Sark's eyes drifted from the young girl to Sydney. Sydney raised his glass to him and downed the rest of it with one gulp.  
  
The race was on. 


	3. The Accident

03//The Accident  
  
---  
  
You drain me dry and make me wonder why i'm even here  
  
This double vision I was seeing is finally clear  
  
You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone  
  
Not fit to funkin' tread the ground i am walking on  
  
"Harder to Breath" - Maroon 5  
  
---  
  
She watched as Sark stuttered a goodbye to his young female companion before darting into the large crowd of people. Sydney looked in the direction he was heading and finally saw the Shahn painting. It was securely set to the wall on her left and the hallway next to it.  
  
Sydney shoved her empty wine glass into whoever was closest to her, she didn't care to look. She shifted and squeezed her way through the swarms of people. Some commenting on how rude she was, others ignored her and continued on with their conversation. She didn't think to keep track of where Sark was. She had to keep her mind on track and not let it wander. Though she had to admit Sark looked very good with his tousled 'bed-head' look and dark blue suit.  
  
She shook her head in response, No! Now is not the time.  
  
When she reached the beginning of the hallway she turned to see where her opponent was. She had to hold back a laugh at the site of it. Through a parted crowd she saw Sark on the ground, picking up odds and ends as a woman, looking in her mid 70s, screamed at him. It was apparent Sark had knocked into the women on his way to the hallway and knocked her purse out of her hands. He glanced up at her briefly; tampon grasped in his hand, and sneered at Sydney. She smiled back and darted down the hallway. This was way too easy.  
  
As she reached the staircase several feet away from the party, a guard jumped out from behind the shadows and tackled Sydney against the wall. He attempted to pin her arms down while screaming for back up but she was able to slip one of her wrists from his grip. She elbowed him in the gut before he could yell again. He stumbled back and it gave Sydney enough room to slip the gun out from under her dress. In one swift motion, the butt of the gun made contact with the guard's head.  
  
Sydney didn't have time to watch him slump to the floor but darted up the staircase. Soon she reached the library door and slipped inside just as she heard a group of footsteps approach her. She turned her back to the door and took in the full view of the library  
  
Shelves filled to the brim with books stood high against the walls. Lights hung elegantly from the ceiling, giving the room a warming glow. Sydney's eyes fell on a large, mahogany desk on the opposite side of the room and approached it. Slipping into the sleek business chair: she saw the drawer she was told contained the reason why she was in England. Unhooking one of her earrings, she clasped it onto the lock. She looked around as she waited for the earring to unlock the lock. Constantly glancing over at the door, waiting for someone to bust through it.  
  
After what seemed like an hour, Sydney heard a faint clicking of the lock. She seized the earring and opened the drawer. She pulled what looked like ancient sheets of paper out, each one of them a different shade of yellow. She placed them side-by-side on top of the desk. Removing her ring, she positioned it at her eye level and squeezed its sides: taking pictures of the documents. Marshall was a sneaky little devil in Sydney's opinion, strange but sneaky.  
  
After clicking the last picture, she was replacing the documents when she heard a faint clicking of a loaded gun.  
  
"Hello," A smooth, British accented voice said, "Raise your hands." Sydney recognized the owner of this voice as Sark, and she obeyed his command. Raising her hands, she continued to grasp the ring.  
  
"I was wondering when you were going to get here," she replied in an even, relaxed tone. "Thanks for the distraction."  
  
"Thanks for doing the dirty work." He retorted, taking a step forward. Sydney didn't flinch and this made Sark slightly agitated. From one glance, you could tell there was not an ounce of fear in her.  
  
That's what made her so sexy to him.  
  
"Now give me the ring," he coaxed her, lifting his hand up; Sydney didn't move.  
  
"Mr. Sark, I thought you knew me better then that. You think you can get it from me that easily." Sydney replied, grasping the ring tightly in her hand.  
  
Before Sark could reply, there was a loud bang and the room shook violently for a few moments. A few books fell from the shelves and the lights swayed but the two of them remained standing.  
  
"What the fuck was that?" Sark asked in a bewildered voice, lowering his gun only slightly. Screaming came apparent from the party below them and Sydney could see people retreating from the mansion.  
  
"It wasn't me." Sydney said breathlessly: Giving a confused look to the ground where the sound originated. Without warning came another crash, this one bigger then the last. This sent Sydney hurtling back and crashed into the bookshelf. A dozen books fell on top of her as Sydney slumped into unconsciousness. More screaming accompanied this explosion but it was all mute to Sark. Without thinking or hesitating, Sark dropped his gun and hurried towards Sydney. Throwing books in different directions, he finally recovered Sydney. Blood dripped softly down her forehead and a bruise was becoming present on her cheek. Without thinking, he reached towards her hand, retrieved the ring, and dropped it into his pocket.  
  
He stood as another explosion sounded; it sent more books tumbling but missing her. Sydney remained on the ground, unconscious and vulnerable. He couldn't leave her like this.  
  
"Damn me and my conscious." he muttered as he lifted her lifeless body and carried her out of the library and down the steps. Dust filled the air and chunks of the ceiling laid in broken pieces on the ground. He didn't go through the front entrance but instead found a back door. Once outside he spotted his cat hiding underneath a shady tree. Signaling the driver with his free arm, he drove towards Sark and let him in. Not speaking, he drove to the airport. Sydney sat slumped in the seat next to Sark, remaining unconscious the entire journey.  
  
---  
  
Sydney moaned as she returned back to reality. Feeling her head, she opened her eyes to a dimly lightened area. Ahead of her she saw a blurry figure, someone she didn't recognize. A painful pounding became louder and louder as she woke.  
  
"Where am I?" she asked in a weak, raspy voice. Sitting up slowly, she looked out the window. She was realized she was in an airplane.  
  
"You're on your way to Ireland with me," said the man across from her. Her vision slowly became clear but the man remained unrecognizable.  
  
"Who are you?" Sydney asked, looking around her. She sat in a very sleek plane with a large couch, table, and a TV that sat in the wall.  
  
Sark was taken back by this question. Certainly her eyesight must still be a little blurry; surely she would recognize him in a moment's notice.  
  
"I'm.. er . Sark," he said in an uncertain voice. A confused look occupied Sydney's face, was this some type of game she was playing Sark?  
  
"Sark?" she asked, "Well, Sark, who am I?"  
  
'Oh, shit.' Was Sark's first reaction. 


	4. Fibs and Fairytales

04//Fibs and Fairytales  
  
--- It just takes some time  
  
Little girl, you're in the middle of the ride.  
  
Everything, everything will be just fine,  
  
Everything, everything will be all right, all right.  
  
"The Middle" - Jimmy Eat World ---  
  
Sydney's last comment left Sark flabbergasted. It could've been a trick; it could've been some stupid game she was playing on him. The expression on her face told a different story. She looked confused and partially frightened.  
  
Sydney Bristow was never frightened.  
  
Sark just stared at her. This wasn't real; this was too good to be true. He could tell her anything, anything he wanted. She would believe; she would have no other choice but to believe him. A small smile tempted to erupt from Sark's lips. He watched as she brought her knees up to her chest and held onto them tightly. For a moment, Sark actually felt sorry for her. She was in a bad situation with the wrong person. He shook off the feeling as quickly as it came.  
  
"You're Sy-andra. You're Sandra." Sark dismissed the idea of revealing her true name. It could bring memories Sark didn't want her to see yet. She nodded and looked out the window but Sark continued to watch her. A bruise began to appear on her cheek as her limp brown hair fell to her shoulders. Though she looked beaten and tired, she looked strangely sexy to Sark.  
  
An idea popped into Sark's head; a completely cynical and evil idea. It could work; it could work if Sark followed it very closely and precisely. Being sure that all his colleges and employees knew of it. He smiled at himself; it was horrible.  
  
Yet, it was so him.  
  
"Oh honey," Sark cooed at Sydney, leaning over and cupping her face with his left hand. She looked at him with a bewildered look but remained silent. "You must've hit your head. You have no idea who I am?"  
  
"You're Sark, right?" She said, her voice small and fragile.  
  
"Yes, I'm also your fiancée." He told her, wiping the hair out of her face. Normally, if he had told this to Sydney Bristow, he would have been down on the floor in an uncomfortable position in less then 15 seconds. Sydney would spat insults and win. Yet, this was different. Sark was talking to Sandra now. Sandra opened her mouth briefly but then closed it. They both sat there, looking at each other, as an evil laugh filled Sark's head.  
  
"Oh," Sydney finally said as Sark removed his hand from her head. He sat back in his seat, looking pleased with himself. Sydney looked down at her left hand and Sark held his breath, he had forgotten about the ring. "Then where's my-"  
  
"Oh, you must of lost it in the accident." He cut her off; he made a mental note to steal a ring from Irina later.  
  
"Accident? What Accident?" She asked, her voice alert and full of worry.  
  
"We . were . at a party in England," Sark said slowly, how was he going to pull this off? "There were some explosions while we were in the library and books fell on you." Damn it! He shouldn't have said that, he shouldn't have said that. Stupid Sark! Stupid, Stupid!  
  
"Library? Why were we in the Library?" She continued to question him. You would think after almost dying, she would feel tired. This was Sydney Bristow, weak wasn't in her vocabulary.  
  
"You see, Sweetheart, we're agents." This could work out. This had possibilities, potential even, "We were trying to steal some papers to bring back to Sloane." He quickly lied. This wasn't as easy as he thought. "You do remember our boss, right?"  
  
"Sloane? Uh, no I don't." she said, sitting back and directing her attention once more out the window. Sark gave a small breath of relief, she didn't remember anything. Not a bloody thing.  
  
"You must be exhausted," he breathed out as he stood up and straightened his tie, "You go ahead and sleep. We should be in Ireland in about an hour. We have a meeting with Sloane in the afternoon. I'm going to go and fix myself a drink." As he was about to walk into the next cabin, her voice stopped him.  
  
"Aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?" her voice sounded innocent and genuine, like she was really expecting it. It felt foreign to Sark, to hear her voice ask that. Most of the time she screamed obscenities or scowled at him. Sark stiffly walked over to Sydney and placed a small, uncomfortable kiss on her forehead. She smiled in return, turned her head away and closed her eyes, drifting off in what seemed like a comfortable sleep.  
  
Sark was going to have to get use to the kissing part of his plan.  
  
He walked back into the bar section of the plane and fixed himself a martini. Once he was done mixing the toxins together, he moved towards the couch and sat down to watch Ireland come closer into view. While sitting there, Sark began to formulate his on how he was going to use Sydney Bristow in order to get what he wanted.  
  
--  
  
Back in LA, it was 4:00 in the afternoon and Vaughn sat in his computer chair. With his Starbucks in one hand, he watched the phone intently. Anytime, Sydney was going to call to confirm she had in her possession the pictures of the document.  
  
That should've been 3 hours ago.  
  
Something was wrong, Vaughn had the gut feeling something was not right. He felt horrible about it too. They're goodbye at the airport a few days ago was not how he wanted it. He wanted his "I'll miss you's," to sound at least genuine. He wanted to say, "I love you," but couldn't. God knew he wanted to, but couldn't.  
  
He reached absently into his pocket and fingered a small black box. Or as he referred to it, his good luck charm. Though, he knew for this situation. Luck wasn't enough.  
  
-- 


	5. Champagne

05//Champagne  
  
- - -  
  
Running fast in my mind  
  
Girl won't you slow it down  
  
If we carry on this way this thing might leave the ground  
  
How would you like to fly?  
  
"Senorita" - Justin Timberlake  
  
- - -  
  
Finally the plane had landed at an Irish airport, both Sark and Sydney were awoken with the suddenly jolt as the plane touched down upon earth. Sydney sat up in her armchair, stretching her aching muscles. Sark had fallen asleep on the couch: he had fallen asleep in the fetal position. He quickly sat up as he realized his vulnerability was apparent.  
  
They left the airport in a private car; it was a quiet ride with hidden awkward glances at times. Instead of heading to meet with Irina and Sloane "the office," as Sark liked to refer to it as, he asked the driver to take them to his house. Taking Sydney straight into a place where she is wanted dead wouldn't exactly be smart of Sark.  
  
Once they arrived at his home, there was an audible gasp from Sydney's lips. Sark lived in a large, 3-story, Victorian house. It wasn't aged like many houses around him (the nearest house was 5 miles away) but built to Sark's specific requests. It was just one of his many homes he owned; he had another flat in England, New York, and a beach house in Southern California. Whoever said crime didn't pay should have been shot. Or probably already was.  
  
Sark walked into his home in a nonchalant way. To him, his house wasn't a mansion or a manor but a home. Sydney stumbled in after him, staring at the high ceiling above them.  
  
"I live here?" she asked in a breathless voice. Sark smiled smugly in return.  
  
"Yes, for about 2 years I believe." Sark said as he leaned against a near by table. He had formed a plan before falling asleep. Sydney would be more help to him then she would ever know. His train of thought was broken when one of his many butlers scuttled into the room. "Ah yes, Mr. Stewart, would you please ring up Dr. Watson and ask him if he could possibly make a house call for this afternoon." Sark nodded curtly.  
  
"Yes Master Sark, and it is Mr. Clayton, Sir." He said before scuttling off down another hall. Sydney watched him walk down the hall for a moment, and then glanced at Sark. A look on content was apparent on his face and it made Sydney wonder.  
  
"How many servants do you, I mean, do we have?" she asked. Sark turned on his heals and walked down a hall that lead them to what looked like a large living room. Dark green curtains draped the over-sized windows as 3 couches and a few armchairs formed a circle in the center of the room. Sark sat in one of them.  
  
"I'm not sure, really. It's not really my department." He said as he watched Sydney sat on the edge of the couch.  
  
"Not your department, I mean, you hire them correct? You pay them to work around the house, right? Well isn't that exactly what you're department is?" She asked in an unbelievable voice.  
  
Sark shrugged in return as Mr. Clayton entered the room once again.  
  
"Dr. Watson will be here at 4:30." He told Sark as he gave Sydney strange glances. "Shall I prepare the guest room for the misses, Master Sark?"  
  
"Guest Room?" Sydney whispered under her breath. Sark gave her a panicked look.  
  
"No! Uh, no need for that tonight Mr. Uh . uh . well, there's no need for that. If you don't mind I think we can use some champagne." Sark said in mock smooth tone. The word 'Champagne' triggered something in her head and a memory came back to her.  
  
- - -  
They were in France. She saw a man sitting on the hood of a car but his face was unreadable. He was giving instructions to a group of men, all of them dressed in black. She smiled and watched him but his words were muffled. Soon he stood up and nodded to her, she popped open the bottle of champagne in her hands and sprayed the fizzy drink all over the man's shirt.  
As the bottle's contents drenched the man in front of her, she turned to the group of covertly dressed men in front of her and smiled gleefully.  
- - -  
  
Soon she was yanked back into reality. She leaned back against the couch and touched her forehead lightly with her fingers, her breathing slightly uneven.  
  
"You alright?" He asked as he poured the champagne into 2 separate glasses, giving her a nervous glance. He took a sip of his drink as he handed Sydney her glass.  
  
"France," she muttered under her breath, "I saw a man wearing an ugly shirt, talking to men dressed in black ." her words trailed off as she was reviewing the vision she had just experienced. "I sprayed the man with champagne but . why?" Sark swallowed his drink nervously.  
  
"Spraying a man, darling?" he gave her a nervous chuckle, "Really now? Must be one of your . erm . strange dreams. You've only been to France once. For my Uncle's wedding a few years back." He lied quickly though you couldn't understand why was it so difficult for him suddenly. He could lie in front of the pope and not think twice about it but this was Sydney.  
  
A tense silence filled between them as they sipped their champagne quietly. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang and Dr. Phillip Watson walked into the room. Dr. Watson wore the regular doctor attire, a white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck and he carried a sleek leather briefcase in his right hand. Sark set his champagne down on a near by table and stood up, shaking the man's hand. They walked out of the living room and out of Sydney's earshot so Sark could explain what was happening. He told the Doctor about Sydney being knocked unconscious and him lying to her about her true identity. The Doctor nodded, understanding the situation, and asked no more questions as he led Sydney out of the living room up to one of the luxurious bed rooms upstairs. Sark passed outside of the door nervously, he trusted the doctor since Sloane employed him and he knew what kind of business he was involved in. This fact did not calm Sark's nerves.  
  
He had to be very careful with his words now; anything and everything could trigger Sydney's memory to return. He couldn't mention SD-6, Vaughn, or anybody in her previous life. How did champagne fit? He vaguely remembered hearing a story that involved the CIA team and using champagne as a diversion.  
  
He nervously glanced down at his watch. It had been 20 minutes since the exam had started. Sark found it curious how she would react when he saw Sloane and her mother. Could that trigger anything? No memory of him came up when she saw him so possibly it's only words that could do the trick. So many possibilities made Sark's head spin.  
  
He smiled in spite of himself, toying with another person's life may seem evil but it was also the sweetest revenge. He could use her; Sloane could use her against her own agency in achieving whatever he wanted. Sark greatly admired Sydney, she knew of it, and to be able to work beside her would be a true gift to him. To finally work with someone who's abilities matched his.  
  
Finally the door creaked open and the doctor walked out, holding sheets of paper. He handed it to him and it was the examination results. Dr. Watson informed Sark that Sydney was in top condition but the avalanche of books caused her to loose her memory. He also Sark what he already knew, anything could bring back her memory. The doctor nodded curtly at Sark's understanding and let himself out. Sark folded up the piece of paper and walked into the guest room.  
  
Sydney sat towards the window with her back to the door. Sark slowly walked over to her, his hands in his pocket, as a smirk played upon his lips. "I have good news" he spoke with a soft tone. He saw Sydney jump and turn towards him.  
  
"Am I alright?" she asked, his eyes fell to her hands and saw they were twisting a piece of tissue nervously. He moved next to her and saw down as he placed a kiss on her left temple.  
  
"The accident that you had did cause some damage, but you just lost your memory. He said it was nothing to worry about, that you'll have it back possibly in a few days." He told her.  
  
"A few days?" Sydney asked in a tired voice.  
  
"But you have me and I know everything about you. Don't worry, I'm here to help." He grinned; she returned his grin as she leaned forward to kiss him. Without realizing it, a strange force pulled Sark forward as well. Her lips were so close; he could feel her hot breath against him as he closed his eyes .  
  
They were interrupted by the crashing sound of the front door being pushed opened. Panic streaked through Sark's heart as he sat up straight.  
  
"Mr. Sloane? Mrs. Derevko?" He heard his butler's voice ring through the hall. Sark bit his bottom lip as he thought up another lie to tell Sydney.  
  
This was going to get interesting . 


	6. Suggestion

06//Suggestion  
  
- - -  
  
Stay away from me tonight  
  
I've made other plans  
  
And you'll just be distracting me  
  
In a good way  
  
"Stay Away" - Rooney  
  
- - -  
  
Sark stood up and looked straight at the door. He glanced briefly back at Sydney who was giving him a bewildered look. "Sark, what's wrong?" She asked in a soft voice, obviously disappointed by the kiss that never happened between them.  
  
"Uh, nothing. Nothing at all." He lied quickly. "Just stay here and rest a while. I have some, er, clients down stairs I must speak with. I'll ask Mr. Stewart-"  
  
"Clayton," She corrected him quickly.  
  
"Right, right. Mr. Clayton will be up shortly with a cup of coffee for you. I'll come up after my little . er . meeting." He assured her and quickly got up. Without another word spoken, Sark left the room and closed the door behind him. He closed his eyes, took a big breath, and told himself to relax before he leaned over the railing. Irina and Sloane were standing in Sark's entrance hall and looking pissed. "Irina, Arvin." Sark beckoned them as he made his way down the stairs in as cool of fashion as you could possibly fake at that moment. "Fancy seeing you here."  
  
"Where the hell have you been?" Irina hissed angrily. She wore a black pea coat with her arms crossed and a furious expression on her face. Irina wasn't the type of person you wanted to be with if she was angry about anything. Sark glanced towards Sloane and saw him in his usual demeanor: stern look, ordinary business suit and expensive shoes. Sark always felt slightly threatened by Sloane's look. Not only life threatening but also career threatening. If you messed up on an assignment he would ruin you and your entire family's career. Luckily, Sark had no family so there was no reason him to feel any threat.  
  
But that didn't stop the fear.  
  
"You never reported back to the office as soon as you got back. You're always suppose to report to me and Irina before you go anywhere." Sloane said in low voice. "We called your driver and he told us he drove you home. You're phone isn't on. What the hell has been happening?" Anger flickered in his cold eyes, "We heard a doctor was over here. Are you hurt?"  
  
"No, actually I'm fine. Thanks for caring." Sark added under his breath, "Actually, I ran into Miss Bristow while on my mission but I was able to receive the intel." Sark gestured to the manila envelope on a near by table. Sloane didn't look but kept his eyes directly on Sark.  
  
"What do you mean you ran into Sydney?" He asked curiously.  
  
"Well, actually she-," as Sark was about to continue with the story he heard a door above him open and Sydney appear at the railing still in her pajamas. Sark looked up at her, the color in his face draining, and quickly glanced back at Sloane and Irina who both had shocked expressions on their faces.  
  
"Sark, can you ask Mr. Clayton to bring me up some sea instead of coffee. I just want to take a nap." Sydney asked, giving a polite smile to the two strangers. Sydney locked eyes with Sloane and quickly felt that famaliar tug in her stomach.  
  
- - - They were standing in an office facing each other. Sydney smiled politely as the man spoke, his words somehow muffled. She nodded quietly but felt something in the pit of her stomach. A type of rage that could succumb a person to madness but she remained sane and patient. The man reached forward and put his hand on her arm; she wanted to pull away sorely but remained still and continued to listen to nothing.  
  
Finally, Sydney replied thank and watched the man wrinkly smile unfold.  
  
"You've always been like a daughter to me, Sydney." He told her.  
  
- - -  
  
Sydney gripped the railing as she was launched back into reality. She had another memory, another memory with that man in it. Sydney gave him a bewildered look and asked wearily, "Do I know you?"  
  
"TEA!" Sark interjected, "tea, right sweetie! I'll be sure to have Mr. Uh . whats-his-face bring it up for you shortly. Now go back to bed," Sark urged her, "go now. Go go go." Sydney sent Sloane another bewildered look and wandered back into his room. Sark took a large sigh as the door closed silently and glanced back at Sloane and Irina who looked dumbfounded. "Shall we go into the sitting room for some tea?" he asked them politely.  
  
10 minutes later, they were all in the sitting room and Sark was spilling the entire story from when Sydney and Sark first made eye contact at the party to when Sydney woke up on the airplane. All the mean time, Sark continually sent Irina glances, noticing her instant fascination to something out the window. Sark could see the wheels turn in her head with every detail he described. Sloane was attentive and completely absorbed by the story, soaking every word up.  
  
"So, I brought a doctor over and he diagnosed amnesia. She doesn't remember anything unless I tell her. She trusts me," he emphasized as if a miracle happened. "We have to tip-toe around her old life. Not mention a thing about SD-6, or her father, or even Mr. Vaughn. Anything could trigger all those memories back and we'd be in deep shit."  
  
"I see what your saying." Sloane nodded as he sat up straight. "We have to be very careful, if we're going to use her we have to be very sure that the CIA will have no contact with her. Keep closer tabs on them while they go off on missions and other trips." He took a sip of the steaming tea that sat in front of him and continued, "You will have to accompany her on every mission she goes on."  
  
"That is no problem, I've always believed me and Mrs. Bristow would make a very dynamic duo." Sark reassured him. Irina shifted in her chair and looked back at Sark with interest.  
  
"Tell me, what else have you revealed to her. Why does she trust you so much?" She asked. Sark coughed nervously; telling your fake fiancée's real mother that you told her she was your fiancée isn't the most comfortable subject to venture on. Not mention the most difficult to explain afterwards.  
  
"Well, I might've slipped her a little detail that we were . um . engaged" he added quietly with a slight cough.  
  
"That you were what?" Sloane inquired.  
  
"Engaged." He said with more volume and prepared himself for the lash out.  
  
"That's a good idea." Irina surprisingly said. "That way she'll have no reason not to trust you as long as she doesn't learn your true intentions. Good work."  
  
"Here," Sloane said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a letter envelope. "Here is your next mission. We'll have a meeting the day after tomorrow to discuss it in more detail." Sloane handed Sark the envelope as he and Irina stood up. Sark walked them to the front door and as he was about to close it Sloane insisted on having a private word with him. As Irina walked to the private car parked out in front, Sloane began to speak in a hushed voice.  
  
"I only ask a few agents to do this but try to get more intimate with Sydney. She's always trusted a person once she's slept with them from what I've researched."  
  
"Sleep with her?" Sark asked as if Sloane were mad.  
  
"Just try to get closer to her, give her more reason to trust you. Good luck." He finally said and began to walk down the walkway. Sloane wants him to sleep with Sydney?  
  
Interesting, very Interesting . 


	7. Sexual Frustration

07 Sexual Frustration  
  
- - - She moves like a tender kiss  
  
And I can't stop feeling  
  
She soothes with her tenderness  
  
And I can't stop feeling  
  
I even don't even know her name  
  
But I can't stop feeling  
  
"Deeper" Hanson

- - -  
  
Sark settled himself on the sofa in the sitting room. He held a wineglass in between his fingers and watched the chemical swirl continually as she swished the drink around. It's not like the thought of sex and Sydney hadn't run across his mind at the same time before. Powerful woman always turned Sark on. He never thought it was possible to sleep with one of his biggest enemies though. This brought the phrase, "keep your friends close and keep your enemies closer" to a whole new meaning.  
  
"Sark?" a voice brought Sark back to reality. Sydney stood in the doorway with sweats and tank top on. Her hair still fell neatly to her shoulders; she obviously didn't take her nap. "Sark?" she asked again. Sark blinked and his eyes re-focused as he looked back at her.  
  
"Yes, my dear?" He asked, his voice unnaturally soft with her. He knew he had to continue the façade that they were really in love.  
  
"Are you OK? You kept starring at that glass like it was about to shatter or something." Sydney inquired, looking at the wineglass and than back at him. She sat in an armchair across the room.  
  
"Oh, yes. I'm fine. I was just thinking..." he trailed off when the image of him and Sydney together brought color to his cheeks.  
  
"Thinking of what?" She asked once again.  
  
"Oh, just that Mr. Sloane wants us at a meeting tomorrow. Nothing big." He reassured her and they lapsed into silence. For Sydney, this might've been a comfortable silence but for Sark it was nerve wrecking. Usually, lying came as second nature to him but he found it rather difficult with Sydney.  
  
"When did we meet?" Sydney asked, breaking the silence.  
  
"Meet? Well, I believe it was January of 2001." Sark said as he made up a random date, "We were both training in LA and-"  
  
"I've been to LA?" She interjected quickly.  
  
"Why, yes. Plenty of times." Sark replied in an obvious voice. He watched as Sydney moved from the chair to the couch.  
  
"Tell me more about our first date." She continued on with the investigation.  
  
"Well, we, uh, we went to a café downtown." Sark stammered as Sydney inched closer to him. "We talked about work, our families, our, uh, work and" Sydney was now nearly on top of him. He felt her hot breath on his mouth. "And, and work and-" Finally Sydney's lips captured Sark's. Sark didn't hold back but instead plunged in deep. His hands move to her face. Cupping it, he held her face close to him as he continued to deepen the kiss. He felt her hands wonder down to his belt buckle and attempted to conquer the small barrier. She had almost succeeded when her mind went blank and another memory came to her.  
  
------  
  
Two shadowy figures stood in the kitchen. Sydney had just opened the oven when she felt a pair of hands wrap around her waist. With a smile she turned to the stranger and kissed him tenderly. He held her close but unwillingly, she pulled back.  
  
"Dinner's done." she whispered to him.  
  
"We have an oven, you know. We can reheat." He whispered in return and pulled her towards him once again.  
  
-----  
  
"Oh my god!" Sydney yelped as she fell off the couch and onto the floor.  
  
"Sydney! What happened?" Sark said, disappointed with the outcome of the recent events. He helped her up as she looked bewilderedly at him.  
  
"I had another memory and ... and ..." she trailed of as she sat on the couch once again. "Did you just call me Sydney?"  
  
"Shit!" he said under his breath. "Oh, did I? Well, uh, you usually go by that name. It's your middle name, you know."  
  
"Really? Oh, well that makes sense I guess." Sydney said with her head down. Sark began to feel nervous about these reoccurring memories and quickly changed the subject.  
  
"What got into you there?" Sark asked, referencing her jumping on him. Sydney looked up, her face a light pink.  
  
"The doctor told me to try to be intimate with you. He said if I do something I routinely do then that might bring back a memory." Sydney said, looking down at her hands. Her face contorted as she tried to resurface her memory."In my memory, I was kissing a man but it wasn't you." She looked at him with concern.  
  
"Oh, well ... I'm not sure who he was. Tell me more about your memory." Sark asked curiously.  
  
"Well, we were both in the kitchen and I was making something. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me and I told him dinner was ready and he said we could reheat. Do you know who this man is?" Sydney asked with a confused expression on her face.  
  
"Hm, well it maybe sounds like your, erm, ex-boyfriend?" Sark threw out there and he waited for her reaction.  
  
"Ex-Boyfriend? Then, then that was an old memory. What was his name?" Sydney asked, Sark could feel her eyes bearing through him.  
  
"Micheal." He with slight disgust in his voice. "Sweet heart. I really think you should go to sleep. You've had a pretty long day. We can work on, on getting your memory back tomorrow. OK?" Sark urged her. Sydney took a second to consider it and nodded her head.  
  
"Your right. It's just, so much has happened today. Wake me up for dinner then?" she asked and Sark nodded in return. Sydney softly kissed him on the cheek before she got up and walked out of the room. Once she was out of ear shot, Sark let out a large sigh and lay back on the couch. Sark couldn't remember in his life when he was so sexually frustrated. He wanted her. Plain and simple, _he _wanted _her_. Yet, at the same time, he was nervous about bringing back anymore memories.  
  
He knew of Sydney and Micheal's love affair. It was quite obvious that he found humor in them trying to keep it a secret. Those midnight meetings, how she looked at him, and how he looked at her. This mission was more dangerous then he had comprehended.  
  
Quickly, Sark reached over to the nearly by phone and punched in numbers. "It's Sark. I need a favor from you." He spoke into the receiver


	8. Breakfast and Bullets

08 Breakfast and bullets  
  
- - -  
  
But things just get so crazy living life gets hard to do  
  
And I would gladly hit the road get up and go if I knew  
  
That someday it would lead me back to you  
  
That someday it would lead me back to you  
  
"Sunday Morning" Maroon 5  
  
- - -  
  
Sark woke up early that morning. He looked at his bed side clock that blinked 7:53. Wondering what could have woken him up so early, his question was answered by a crashing noise downstairs. Without hesitation, he reached for his gun underneath his pillow and bolted out of bed. He opened the door and peered out, but found the hallway vacant. As he made his decent down the stairs he heard another crash and found the source of the noise was coming from the kitchen.  
  
As he approached the door, he heard male voices. He tried to listen in on what they were saying but the kitchen door muffled their words.  
  
He kicked the door open and pointed his gun in the direction of the voices. A scream penetrated through the air as Sark realized the male voices were coming from a small kitchen radio, the one he was pointing his gun at. He looked over his shoulder and saw Sydney pressing herself against the refrigerator, looking shocked.  
  
"Bloody Hell" he muttered to himself under his breath and lowered his weapon. "Listen, Sydney, I'm sorry. I'm just not use to other people staying in the house," But as soon as Sark finished his sentence, he regretted his words.  
  
"What do you mean not use to people in the house." She asked suspiciously. "I live here too, right?"  
  
"Yes! Yes, you do. It's just ... your gone so often on missions it sometimes feels like I live alone." He replied and breathed a sigh of relief as she nodded and went back to sprinkling salt into a frying pan. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Making breakfast" Sydney replied casually, reaching for a near by spatula.  
  
"My sweet, we have cooks to do that for us." Sark replied, placing the gun down on a near by counter.  
  
"I know. They were here this morning but I sent them home." She said as she sent Sark a smile. "I thought we could spend some quality time together alone. You know, just the two of us and we could maybe try working on getting my memory back."  
  
Sark sent her a grimaced of a smile and sat down on a near by stool. He heard the door bell ring but didn't move and continued to stare at her stirring what looked like eggs.  
  
"Aren't you going to get that?" Sydney asked. Sark looked up with bewilderment expression but it quickly dawned on him, she must've sent the butlers home as well.  
  
"Right, suppose I will." He said grudgingly and got up. Sark made his way down the empty hall way to the front door. He peered through the peep-hole and saw a man dressed very formally, holding a large manila folder underneath his arm. The memory of making the phone call to an old friend slowly crept back into his mind as he opened the door.  
  
"Package for Mr. Sark." said the man with a thick Irish accent.  
  
"That's me." Sark replied and the man held out the manila folder. Sark snatched the folder and before another word could be spoken, slammed the door in the man's face. Sark stood there as he opened the folder and pulled out its contents.  
  
He first pulled out a small pile of pictures of him and Sydney. They weren't normal pictures though; all of them were manipulated to look like they were an actual couple: pictures of them holding hands, holding each other, some were made to look like them posing together, and others were made to look like they were standing only feet from one another. No fighting, no guns, nothing but computer generated love.  
  
Sark replaced the pictures with sheets of paper work containing in depth information on Sydney and her life. He realized certain things, words or images were triggering old memories to return. He needed to know what topics to avoid and prevent any more memories to resurface. As he shifted through the papers, he heard Sydney's voice call him from the kitchen.  
  
"Sark, breakfast is ready!"  
  
"Ok, just a moment." Sark replied, giving the paperwork one more look over before putting it back into the folder. He placed them on a near by table before exiting the room and walking to the kitchen.  
  
When he entered the small room, the smell of hash browns, bacon, sausage, eggs, all ingredients to make a complete breakfast, hit him with full force. When he first entered the kitchen, he was ready to kill but when he entered this time, he knew what he was suspecting. Sydney grinned happily at him and Sark couldn't help but return it.  
  
"Make your plate and meet me in the dining room." She instructed him, leaving the room with her own filled plate. Sark did as he was told, barely fitting all the foods he wanted on the small plate, and entered the dining room to find Sydney already tucking in.  
  
Breakfast began quietly, each of them not knowing where to start. Sydney, searching for a good first question to ask as Sark feared to answer it incorrectly. When they were half way done, Sydney broke the silence.  
  
"I was thinking today, we could go walk the fields and talk. The doctor said stories or possibly photographs of us or my family could help with my memory." She suggested looking at him briefly but letting her eyes fall back on her plate once more. Sark considered it for a moment before remembering something.  
  
"Darling, we have that meeting with Mr. Sloane. Actually," he said glancing at his wristwatch, "we should be heading out there in an hour." Sark got up and as he collected his plate, saw the disappointed look on Sydney's face. "We'll do something tonight, I promise. We'll, uh, go to our favorite restaurant for supper."  
  
"Alright," Sydney sighed in return. "I'll go get ready, I guess." She replied finishing her plate, still looking. Sark looked at her and then at his plate. He argued with himself for a moment before striding over to Sydney who was just standing up. He took her up in his arms and kissed her tenderly on the lips. She returned, putting his plate down for him and wrapping her arms around him, deepening the kiss. After a moment or two, they both separated and grinned.  
  
"I promise, we'll spend some alone time. OK?" he told her and she nodded in return. She let go and left the room and, from what Sark saw, had more of a spring in her step.  
  
After Sydney left, Sark headed to his own bathroom to get ready. As he stood in the shower, letting the water wash over him, his thoughts returned to their kiss in the dining room. Sark felt a spark. Normally, he would kiss any woman to get what he wanted and would feel nothing in return but it was different with Sydney. The moment his lips crashed onto hers, a true kiss shared between them, he had forgotten about everything: Sloane, Irina, The CIA, everything.  
  
For years, Sark had been trained and programmed to be unemotional in every aspect. From watching a car explode to killing a faceless guard, he was taught that being emotional showed weakness. If any emotion threatened to surface, he had to fight it, forget about it, and do whatever he could to prevent that feeling to disrupt his work.  
  
Truthfully, he didn't want to fight that emotion with Sydney.  
  
- - -  
  
An hour later, Sydney and Sark were in the car and driving to the location where the meeting was going to take place. Sloane had called earlier, with worries of revealing their head quarters to Sydney (amnesia or not) so he scheduled the meeting at a different address. Within 20 minutes of driving, they arrived at a remote pub out in the country far. From it's exterior, the pub looked like a broken down shack with a neon sign saying "Olr Pb" (the I, b ,v , e and u signs had burnt out  
  
Cigarette smoke rolled out the front door as Sark and Sydney entered. A few locals occupied small tables as a large man wiped the bar clean. The place looked as run down on the inside as it did on the outside. Loud 70s music filled the pub as a tiny TV in the corner showed a football game. Sark sat down in one of the grungy stools in front of the bar tender.  
  
"What'll be?" he grunted to Sark, continuing to wipe the same spot in front of Sark. Greasy hair fell over his eyes as tattoos covered what flesh was visible from his greased stain t-shirt.  
  
"Your best wine please." Sark replied politely, as Sydney continued to scan the area behind him.  
  
"We don't serve wine here." The mysterious man grunted in return but did not move from the spot.  
  
"Shame, from a distance this place looked classy." Sark replied and watched as a small crack of a smile spread across the man's face. He motioned for them to follow him as he exited the bar and headed down a small hallway to the back of the pub.  
  
"Mr. Sloane is waiting for you in here." He said, opening the door for them. They walked in to a small room to find Sloane sitting at a large, aged wooden table as Irina remained standing against a wall. The bartender exited and they were left alone.  
  
"Please sit." Sloane offered, gesturing to two vacant chairs opposite of him. They both sat and Sloane pushed forward a black folder labeled "25427." Sark opened the folder to find a large photograph of a building. "That is the Nicole Mayer art gallery in Los Angeles. Inside that building are dozens of pieces of art dating back to 1100s and 1200s. You're mission is retrieve a Frederick Leighton painting, on display at that gallery."  
  
"Why do you want a painting?" Sark returned, looking at Sloane curiously.  
  
"There's an inscription hidden in the painting, a clue that will lead us to the location where a Rimbaldi artifact has been hidden." Sloane said curtly, and stood up. "You both shall be leaving tonight."  
  
"Tonight? Can't we go another night?" Sark said. He had grown excited about spending a romantic evening with Sydney that night.  
  
"I want that painting tomorrow, Mr. Sark. If you can't handle the mission, I will send someone else." Sloane replied, the sound of restlessness growing in his tone. Sark bowed his head and nodded as they both left left. As the door was shut, Sark sat back down and looked sadly at Sydney.  
  
"I'm sorry; I had no idea about this." Sark said, looking down at his hands.  
  
"It's OK." Sydney reassured him and he looked up at her. Instead of seeing a disappointed, sad expression on her face, she looked mellow and OK. "We'll just spend the afternoon together. I understand." She told him, placing her hand on top of him. Sark grinned at the image of their hands together and looked up at her.  
  
"Come on; let's get out of this dump. There's a place I want to show you." He said, taking her hand into his.  
  
A/N: Wow! It's been a year since I first published this story and I'm only on chapter 8. I really want to thank all the reviewers who have stuck with me for a whole year. You guys are truly awesome! I am going to finish this story. For a while I was thinking about just stopping it but I realized that would be unfair to all the readers who have stuck with me for so long. I do know what I'm going to do for the next up coming chapters so no more writers block. I will finish this story! Thanks again and keep on reading - Nicki 


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